


Secret Ingredient

by Bunnywest



Series: Thank you fics. [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Christmas Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Stiles intends to figure out what Peter's secret ingredient is.Peter has other intentions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jtere7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jtere7/gifts).



> So, I started to write a tiny thing about ugly Christmas sweaters. I don't even know how this happened.

 

When Noah gets shot while chasing down a burglar, Stiles’ first thought is how damned ironic it is that with all the supernatural activity in Beacon Hills, it’s a petty criminal that managed to take him down.

He thanks Melissa for the call mechanically, hangs up, and begins rearranging his life to go take care of his Dad.

He quits his part time job, quits college, sells all his furniture, packs up his jeep, and goes home, indefinitely.

Quitting his college course isn’t actually the sacrifice everyone thinks it is – he’s passing, but he hates it, and he can see that really, he’s not going to be working in accounting any time soon.

It takes three days for Stiles to be back in Beacon Hills for good.

His dad protests, but he’s still groggy from the pain meds and still recovering from the surgery, so Stiles ignores him.

“We take care of each other, Pops. That’s how it works” Stiles tells him gently, as his father drifts off to sleep.

Once he’s sure he’s asleep, he snags the chart from the foot of the bed, so he can find out how bad it really is,because the doctors and even Melissa have been far too evasive for his liking.

It’s worse than he thought.

The bullet to Noah’s shoulder has shattered his humerus, they’ve had to remove fragments of bone as well as the bullet, and there’s severe soft tissue damage.

It’ll be a long time before he can use that arm again.

Stiles checks that his dad’s properly asleep, goes to find Melissa, and cries in her arms for a long time, not caring who sees.

And then he takes a deep breath, pretends that he’s coping, and goes back to sit with his Dad.

 

* * *

 

Three days after he arrives back in town, when his Dad’s finally demanded that he leave the hospital and “go get a decent meal, son, and some sleep, and for god's sake have a shower” Stiles finds himself wandering through town, looking for somewhere to eat.

He sees a new bar advertising fried chicken, and suddenly that’s exactly what he wants. 

He opens the door cautiously, and looks around.

The place looks clean enough, with a reasonable crowd for lunch time, so he figures it can’t be too bad. He looks over the menu, and goes to the bar to order a beer, waiting patiently.

There’s only one girl working the bar, though, and she seems to be having trouble.

The man she’s serving is trying to order a Manhattan, but she’s looking at him blankly like he’s explaining string theory.

“Look, it’s whiskey, something else, and those bitters” he tries again.

“Vermouth and Angostura bitters” Stiles supplies without thinking.

The girl looks between Stiles and the man, bursts into tears, and walks out, saying “I quit! I only know beer!”

They hear a door slam somewhere out the back, and they’re left staring at the space where a barperson used to be.

“Well, shit” the other man sighs.

Then he bellows “PETER!”

And from the same direction the girl ran off to, Peter Hale appears.

Stiles forgets to breathe for a second at the sight of Peter in a v neck.

Once he remembers to breathe, he takes a moment to just enjoy the scenery.

Peter looks hotter than he did before Stiles left three years ago, if that’s possible.

He comes over to the bar, shaking his head.

“What did you do to my bar staff, Roy?”

“I just asked her to make a Manhattan, honest. She had no clue. Where are you finding these people?” he asks.

Peter pulls a face. “Do you know how hard it is to find anyone in this town who knows one end of a cocktail shaker from another? And hello, Stiles” he adds turning to face him.

Stiles stutters for a moment before managing “Hey, Peter.”

“How’s your father doing?“ Peter asks, blue eyes focusing on him intently.

“Yeah, not so well. Bone’s shattered. It’ll be six months recovery at least.” Stiles tells him, surprised that Peter even cares.

“Shame. I like Noah. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know” Peter says, and somehow Stiles knows that Peter’s completely sincere in his offer.

“You could hire me” he blurts out.

Peter raises an eyebrow at that.

“It’s just, I’m home for good now, and I need a job, and you have a vacancy apparently” he babbles as Peter continues to look at him.

“And you’ve actually _done_ bar work?” Peter asks, skeptical.

“He does know what goes in a Manhattan” Roy supplies helpfully.

“I’ve worked a bar” Stiles confirms.

Peter cocks his head, listening.

“You’re not lying, anyway. Are you any good?”

“Excuse me, I’m excellent” Stiles replies, stung.

“Show me” Peter says, spreading his arms wide in invitation, and Stiles is quick to accept.

He hops behind the bar, does a quick scan to check where everything is, and then expertly makes Roy’s cocktail. He makes two, and hands one to Peter with a flourish.

“I didn’t ask for one, Stiles” Peter says, amused.

“No, but I thought you’d like a taste test” Stiles shrugs.

They both know that alcohol won’t affect him, but Stiles wants to show him what he can do.

Peter and Roy both take a sip, look and Stiles, and nod.

“Damn, that’s good” Roy says, diving back in for more.

Peter’s wearing a pleased smile as he says “This is excellent, Stiles. When can you start? I’m assuming we need to work your shifts around Noah’s recovery? ”

Once again, Stiles finds himself surprised by Peter’s concern.

“Yeah, that would be good. Let me talk to the hospital and I’ll get back to you?”

“Certainly. But for now, let’s get you fed. You look like you could do with a decent meal” says Peter. He scribbles something on a pad and disappears for a moment, and when he comes back he slots himself behind the bar again.

“Food’s on its way” he says.

Stiles doesn’t get a chance to talk to him after that because Peter’s busy serving, so he doesn’t have any idea what he’s ordered him.  The question’s answered soon enough when a waitress comes out with a giant platter of fried chicken and coleslaw and plops it down in front of him.

It looks and smells amazing, and Stiles’ stomach suddenly reminds him that he’s been living on coffee and vending machine snacks for a few days now with a loud growl.

Stiles picks up a chicken piece and examines it. The coating is crisp and firm, but he can feel the give beneath his fingers that indicates that the chicken inside will be tender. He takes a bite, and flavor explodes over his tastebuds. The chicken is moist as he bites into it, juices flooding his mouth, and he moans in pleasure as he takes another bite.

Peter looks up and smiles, the corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement. It just makes him more attractive, Stiles thinks, and then mentally smacks himself across the knuckles.

No.

Peter’s straight, and he’s his boss now. No touchy.

“You like it? It’s a family recipe” Peter tells him.

“It’s amazing! What do I owe you?“ Stiles asks, putting down the chicken and fishing out his wallet.

“Nothing. Staff eat free” Peter tells him.

“There’s something in it that I can’t put my finger on, what is it?” he asks, curious.

Peter leans in so that they aren’t overheard, and Stiles can smell his cologne. He breathes in deeply, chasing the scent.

Peter’s breath is hot against his ear as he says “Stiles, if you think I’m telling you the secret ingredient in my grandmother’s recipe, you’re sadly mistaken.”

He pulls away slightly, and smirks at Stiles.

Stiles pouts a little and vows “I’ll figure it out.”

“Oh by all means, guess away. I’ll even tell you if you ever get it correct” Peter promises.

 

* * *

 

The next time Stiles visits the hospital, he takes a foil covered tray.

“Don’t expect me to let you eat like this too often, but Peter sent it” he tells his father as he hands it over.

Noah’s eyes light up as he sees the fried chicken, and he makes a beckoning motion with his good hand, saying “Hellooo, Hale chicken. Come to papa.”

Stiles looks suspicious as he says “Wait, you’ve had this before? When? You said you were watching what you ate.”

Noah rolls his eye as he says “I’d have to be dead in my grave before I’d agree to give up Grandma Hale’s chicken. Relax though son, I don’t eat it often. Damn it’s good, though. When did you see Peter?”

“I went in there the other day. Actually, Peter’s giving me a job” he says, wondering what his dad will think.

“About time they got a decent bartender there” his father comments, around a mouthful of thigh.

Stiles reaches out for a drumstick, but his father makes a noise deep in his throat that’s practically a growl, before swallowing the mouthful he’s chewing to say “Don’t even think about it, kiddo.”

Stiles looks up to see that his dad’s deadly serious, so he draws his hand back quickly.

“You don’t touch another man’s meat, Stiles. I thought I taught you better than that” Noah admonishes.

It’s true. A hard and fast rule in the Stilinski household has always been “Keep your hands off my damned food.”

He settles back and watches his dad eat, comforted by the fact that at least he feels well enough to eat a decent meal.

“So, Pops. What do you think the secret ingredient is?” he asks casually.

Noah snorts.

“It you can find that out, you’re a better man than the rest of the town. Peter’s been selling that stuff for two years, and nobody knows.”

Stiles has never been one to shy away from a challenge, and he determines then and there that he’ll figure it out.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s three weeks before they let Noah go home. It would have been sooner, but he keeps trying to do too much, and ends up slowing his recovery.

While his Dad’s still in the hospital, Stiles starts work at Peter’s.

He finds that it’s a surprisingly upbeat workplace.

The staff are nice, and he bonds with the waitresses over their shared appreciation of Peter’s ass.

Not that they see much of Peter.

He breezes in and out, disappearing into the office with a pile of paperwork, coming out to say a casual hello, and then he’s gone again.

He always makes a point of seeking Stiles out and asking after Noah though, and Stiles finds that he appreciates it, knowing that there’s someone other than him who cares about his Dad.

Stiles fits right in – he’s an excellent barman.

He’s always enjoyed the work, the social aspect as much as mixing the drinks, and working at Peter’s is no exception.

He tries to thank Peter for the job as they share lunch one day, but he waves it off, saying “You’re the one doing me a favor Stiles, really.”

“Well still, I appreciate it. I did wonder it I was going to end up as a bag boy at the store” Stiles admits.

Peter shakes his head.

“Have a little more faith in yourself, Stiles.”

He adds “I’m sure you would have been _head_ bag boy” with a wink.

Stiles barks out a surprised laugh, and Peter smiles, pleased with himself.

“Nice to hear you laugh again” he comments.

 

* * *

 

 

Once Noah’s settled in at home, Stiles and Melissa work out a roster between them to make sure he has somebody with him, at least for the first month.

Peter’s remarkably accommodating, which surprises Stiles, but when he mentions it to his Dad, he asks “Why would that surprise you, son?  Peter’s always liked you, even back when he was a little sketchy.”

Stiles thinks about it, and realises Noah’s right.

Even back when he was an out of control alpha, Peter said “I like you, Stiles” and apparently that’s never changed.

When he left Beacon Hills for college, he and Peter had worked their way into an amicable relationship, and it seems that they’re picking up right where they left off.

Stiles works hard, and Peter appreciates the effort he puts in.  Between them, they cover the busiest shifts, and on the nights they work together, they banter ceaselessly, much to the amusement of the patrons.

Stiles is reminded of how much he’s always loved Peter’s quick wit. He enjoys working with him, and not just because he likes watching the way him arms flex as he pulls the taps on the beer, or the way his neck extends attractively as he looks to the top shelf, seeking out the bottle he needs.

No touchy, Stiles reminds himself, and sighs.

 

* * *

 

 

Noah’s recovering  slowly but steadily, and his recovery’s definitely helped by the dishes of food that Peter keeps sending home with him.

Vegetable lasagna, chicken and vegetable soup,  zucchini slice, Thai red curry, all healthy options, Stiles notices, and all delicious.

When he tries to refuse the offer, Peter tells him “Stiles, your father’s the best sheriff we’ve ever had. He deserves to be looked after. He didn’t flinch when he found out about the supernatural, and he’s kept our secret. I like him, and I like you. Let me make life easier for both of you?”

How can Stiles say no to that?

When he walks in the door with yet another meal, Noah eyes him speculatively and comments “Peter’s still feeding you, huh?”

“Yep. He wants to make sure you’re OK.  He really likes you” Stiles tells him.

Noah shakes his head, and holds his hand out for the plate.

 

* * *

 

 

Two months after he moved home, Stiles feels almost like he’s never left.

And he’s actually …pretty content.

Noah’s recovering well, progressing faster than expected.

Stiles is making decent money, he likes his job, and he gets to look at Peter’s ass most days.

OK, maybe that last one’s a double edged sword.

And maybe his social life’s a little lacking. Beacon Hills is hardly the gay dating capital of California.

But he’s here for his Dad, so he contents himself with longing glances at Peter’s physique, the odd fantasy, and some late night sessions involving his hand, once he’s sure Noah’s asleep for the night – living back at home takes a little getting used to, and Stiles has never been quiet.

To distract himself, he sets about trying to figure out the secret ingredient in the damned chicken. He’s eaten so much of it that he’s gained five pounds, and he doesn’t care, because it’s delicious.

He’ll order a platter of chicken, and then confidently approach Peter, stating “MSG” or “Sage” or “Cumin”.

And Peter will fold his arms smugly over his chest, and sigh, saying “Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. I’m truly worried about the state of your taste buds if you think it’s that.”

And he’ll walk away, saying “Better luck next time.”

The worst thing is, Stiles _knows_ the taste. He’s so damned close to identifying it, and it’s driving him crazy.

The next time, he’s certain he has it.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the chicken, analyzing the flavors, and it hits him.

“Rosemary!” Stiles calls out as Peter walks past.

“The name’s Peter!” floats back.

Stiles snorts, and keeps eating.

 

* * *

 

Noah’s been getting pains in his shoulder.

Stiles insists he see the specialist, but they tell him it’s just part of the healing process, and there’s nothing to be done.

When Stiles goes into work, Peter asks how the appointment went, because Peter always asks how things are with Noah. Stiles reflects that Peter really does have a soft spot for his dad.

“It’s nothing they can do anything about, he just has to put up with it.” Stiles tells him with a sigh.

“No painkillers?” Peter asks, surprised.

“The only ones that would do any good are addictive, and Pops won’t touch them -  it took him too long to get off the bottle” Stiles says bluntly.

Peter looks thoughtful, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods.

And that night, when Stiles goes home, he finds his father stretched out on the couch, groaning softly with his head in Peter’s lap.

Peter has one hand rested on Noah’s naked torso.

There are thick dark lines running up Peter’s arm as he takes Noah’s pain steadily, and Noah’s face is a picture of bliss.

Stiles takes in the sight before him, before demanding “Exactly _how_ bad was the pain, Dad? On a scale of one to ten.  And don’t lie to me.”

Noah looks sheepish as he admits “Pretty bad, son. Maybe a nine?”

“Try an eleven” Peter says, wincing a little as the black lines continue to pulse.

He finally lifts his hand, telling Noah “That should see you through the night, but you call if you need me, all right? Just because you won’t take the drugs, doesn’t mean you have to suffer, Sheriff.”

“I appreciate that, son. Truth be told, it never crossed my mind that you could do that” Noah tells him, and Stiles has to admit that when he sits up, Noah’s moving more freely than he’s seen him since before the shooting.

He walks Peter out, saying “Thanks Peter, you didn’t have to do that.”

Peter looks at him with an odd expression, before saying “I wanted to, Stiles. I know your father’s health is important to you.”

“Well, yeah. He’s all I’ve got” Stiles shrugs.

“I’m happy to do anything to help you and your father, Stiles” Peter says, and there’s something in his tone that makes Stiles look at him closely and wonder what he’s missing.

If he didn’t know better he’d say Peter’s sweet on his father.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles thinks absently that he’ll have to get around to buying some warmer clothing, because there’s a definite chill in the air. It’s December though, so he was expecting it.

What he doesn’t expect is to walk into the bar and see it completely transformed into a Christmas village.

There’s a tree, and tinsel, and decorations as far as the eye can see.

Peter’s up a ladder hanging paper snowflakes, and when he turns around, Stiles sees that he’s wearing a red knitted monstrosity featuring a picture of a Christmas bow with bells attached, bearing the slogan “JIngle my bells.”

Stiles stares for a minute, and then starts laughing hysterically.

“What are you even wearing?” he gasps out when he can finally breathe.

Peter looks pleased at his reaction, and he climbs down the ladder, goes out the back, and brings out a package.

“Yours is in there” he says, handing the parcel over.

And sure enough, when Stiles opens it, there’s a matching sweater for him, only in green. He tries not to think too hard about the fact that Peter guessed his size perfectly.

“Put it on” Peter tells him cheerfully.

“Nice slogan” Stiles snickers.

“Alas, I can’t persuade any nice young man to take me up on the offer” Peter mock sighs.

Stiles stills at that.

_Wait, what?_

He’s not sure what to do with the information that Peter’s just casually dropped into the conversation.

Is he joking?

Stiles really wants to find out.

 _Keep it light, then if he was joking you can laugh it off_   his brain supplies.

“Not young ladies?” he asks with a wink.

Peter looks at him, assessing.

“As I’ve gotten older, I find my tastes have changed” he says, suddenly serious.  “It’s just young men, now.”

Stiles thinks carefully about what he says next.

“Lucky for us young men, then.”

He‘s not sure, but he thinks he sees Peter looking relieved.

He looks again at the slogan on the hideous sweater, and without really thinking about it says “I’d jingle them, Peter.”

Shit. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, and he’s beyond embarrassed.

Peter’s face breaks into a grin though, and he looks like he’s about to reply.

Before he can say anything, Stiles hurries out the back and puts the stupid sweater on, blushing furiously.

Peter doesn’t bring it up again, but he has a small, satisfied smile for the rest of the afternoon.

The next day there are four more sweaters for Stiles, all equally hideous, all with suggestive slogans.

“Don’t want you to get cold” is all Peter says when Stiles tries to protest.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter doesn’t mention their conversation again, and Stiles starts to think that maybe Peter's forgotten his inappropriate comment, except that over the following weeks, things change slightly.

Peter invites Stiles to share his chicken platter one night before they start work, and Stiles agrees happily.

Peter doesn’t eat that much, seeming more than content just to watch Stiles eat.

“You were too thin, before” he comments as Stiles demolishes another chicken strip.

Stiles looks at the plate and realizes he’s eaten most of the contents single handed, and there’s only a single chicken strip left lying there.

‘Sorry man, I didn’t mean to steal your dinner. Dad taught me better than that. ‘Stiles, you never touch another man’s meat’ was always the rule” he says, with a rueful smile.

Peter picks up the piece of chicken, and asks “What if the other man’s offering his meat to you?” as he places the tip of the chicken gently against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles’ mouth opens almost without him being aware of it, and he takes a delicate bite, moaning at the flavor.

He catches Peter watching his mouth intently as Stiles licks his lips, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think Peter was interested.

He breaks the moment by hazarding another guess.

“Tarragon?”

“Gesundheit.”

“Oh fuck off Peter, just tell me what it is” Stiles pleads.

Peter looks supremely smug as he shakes his head.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I do love watching you squirm” he says, and winks.

And OK, Stiles is pretty sure he isn’t imagining it.

Peter’s  definitely flirting with him.

it starts to happen more and more.

It's Peter putting a hand gently on his shoulder as he walks by him, and leaning in close to whisper things in his ear, and the feel of his breath hot on Stiles neck and the smell of his cologne makes Stiles shiver.

Peter seems to know it, too.

Their normal banter is devolving into a series of suggestive comments, and Stiles freely admits that he’s as bad as Peter when it comes to making inappropriate innuendos. It’s fun to flirt with an attractive man, even if it’s going nowhere.

But it’s confusing, because he knows Peter doesn’t really like him like that, if anything it's Noah that he’s interested in.

If the stream of visits and food deliveries are anything to go by, Peter’s courting his dad.

Stiles thinks he really should clue Peter in to the fact that his dad’s the straightest man alive, even if it does mean that the awesome dinner deliveries will stop. He broaches the subject one day after Peter’s stopped by to take Noah’s pain, and decided to mow the grass while he’s there.

“So, you do know my dad’s not the gay one in this household, right?” he starts.

Peter raises one perfect arched eyebrow at him in reply.

He looks unfairly attractive right then, in old worn jeans that sit snugly on his body and a dark v neck, sweat and grass staining his normally perfect clothing. He has a smudge on his face and Stiles wants nothing more than to run a thumb over it and clean it off.

“I mean, just in case you weren’t aware, he’s straight. It just seems like you might be interested, with all the visits and the food and the courting stuff” Stiles clarifies.

“Stiles, I promise I’m not courting your father” is all Peter says before he goes back to his mowing.

Stiles could swear he sees him roll his eyes.

Huh.

Peter continues to feed them though, and as the month wears on, he continues to flirt and tease and torture Stiles just by existing.

On one memorable occasion, while they’re working the bar together, Peter presses right up against Stiles’ back, grinding subtly as he reaches over his shoulder to grab the Tequila.

That night he’s barely able to wait for Noah to go to sleep before reliving the moment in his mind as he jerks himself off furiously.

He’s not sure what he should do. Is Peter flirting just for fun? Or is he actually serious?

Stiles doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to ask.

And slowly, they go from flirting to actual talking, and he discovers that the more time they spend together, the more he  likes Peter.

He likes him a hell of a lot.

Question is, does Peter like him back?

It’s driving him crazy. Like the chicken, he feels it’s something he should know, but it’s just out of reach.

He starts spending more time at work just to be around Peter, all the while eating the damned chicken and trying to figure out the secret ingredient.

Peter laughs every time he guesses wrongly, telling him teasingly “Get it right, and I’ll make it worth your while” in a deliberately seductive tone.

What the hell is Stiles meant of make of that?

The more he overthinks it, the more distracted he finds himself.

He’s playing cards with Noah on Christmas Eve when his dad looks at him and says “What’s up kiddo? Spit it out.”

Stiles looks up from his cards, surprised.

“Why do you think anything’s up?”

Noah raises a brow at him.

‘Because I’ve won the last three hands by cheating and you haven’t noticed?”

Stiles sighs.

Noah doesn’t care that he’s gay, never has, but Stiles isn’t sure if he wants to discuss this with his dad. But really, who else is there?

“It’s Peter. I like him. But I’m not sure if he likes me back” he says hesitantly.

Noah tilts his head and looks at him strangely.

“Of course he likes you. He’s always liked you.”

“No, dad. _Like_ like. As in, is attracted to” he clarifies.

Noah gives him that look again.

“Like I said, he’s always liked you. Haven’t you noticed him courting you for the last three months?”

“He hasn’t been courting me” Stiles replies automatically.

“Hasn’t he? Think about it, kiddo.”

Stiles opens his mouth to argue, then closes it.

The food.

The warm clothing.

The visits.

The shared meals.

The suggestive comments.

Shit.

Peter’s been courting him.

“I thought that he was courting _you_ ” he finally says. “Feeding you, taking your pain, doing stuff around the house…”

Noah just looks amused.

“Son, I love you, but you’re as dumb as dirt sometimes. He was looking after me to impress _you_ –he knows I’m your family, and pack cares for pack, you know that.”

At Stiles’ stunned look, Noah laughs, and then continues.

“Peter would have dated you straight out of high school if he could have. I didn’t quite trust him then, but now? I like him. He’s a good guy.” Noah says, smiling.

He looks at Stiles, who’s still wearing a stunned expression, and says “Son, he’s totally gone on you. Go ask the man out. It’s Christmas Eve, after all. There’s no better time”

When he says that, it all clicks into place for Stiles, and he realizes that his dad is right.

He stands up, and tells his dad “I’ve gotta go.”

Noah just shakes his head fondly as he watches his son scramble for his car keys.

 

* * *

 

He drives down to the bar, catching Peter just as he’s about to lock up.

Stiles walks over to him, and wordlessly leads him back inside.

They stand there in the empty bar, and Stiles deliberately steps in as close to Peter as he can get, breathing in his scent.

Peter says nothing, just watches with an amused smile and waits.

Stiles puts his mouth up close to Peter’s ear, and says “It was me you were courting all along, wasn’t it?”

Peter nods, saying “Smart boy. I knew you’d figure it out” before pulling Stiles in and kissing him softly.

Stiles goes willingly, and his eyes flutter closed as he feels Peter’s tongue slip into his eager mouth, deepening the kiss.

“How long?” he asks, when they finally break apart, panting slightly.

“I’ve always wanted you, Stiles. It was just a matter of time.”

Stiles’ eyes fly wide open as he pulls away and exclaims “Oh my god! It’s thyme!”

Peter smirks as he puts his hands on Stiles’ hips, holding him in place.

“You’re right. It _is_ time” he says simply, before leaning in and kissing Stiles again, making it filthy.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter promised Stiles that if he guessed the secret ingredient correctly, he'd make it worth his while.  
> He's more than happy to fulfil that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter for Jtere. Merry Christmas, darling.

 

Stiles thinks that if he could just stand here and kiss Peter forever, that would be perfectly fine, thanks.

Peter’s lips are soft and warm, and he tastes a little like scotch, and he’s a truly skilled kisser, making Stiles weak at the knees as he plunges his tongue deeper into his mouth, hand around the back of Stiles’ head to steady him.

It’s definitely a kiss that promises more.

 Stiles makes a tiny whimpering sound when Peter finally pulls away, smirking.

Their bodies are pressed close, and Stiles can’t help but rock his hips forwards a little.

His eyes widen when he feels a sudden vibration, before he realises that it’s just his phone, jammed into his front pocket.

He ignores, it, but it buzzes again.

It’s Noah.

**_U can stay out tonight. Melissa will take care of me_ **

He sighs, and texts back

**That’s not fair on her at Christmas. I’ll be home later.**

A reply comes through almost immediately.

**_Stiles, stay out tonight. Melissa WILL TAKE CARE OF ME_ **

Peter’s looking on, amusement obvious on his face.

Stiles texts back

**Are you sure?**

It all becomes clear with the next text.

**_Stiles, for the love of God don’t come home tonight. We have plans, OK?_ **

Stiles gapes at his phone for a moment, before dialing.

As soon as Noah answers he blurts out “Do you and Melissa have a thing?”

Stiles can almost hear the eyeroll as his father says “I swear to god Stiles, as dumb as dirt. We’ve had a thing for the past two years – we’re just discreet. If you stay out tonight with Peter, we won’t be upset, believe me.”

“But…your arm” is all Stiles can say, because he’s still reeling at the thought of his Dad and Scott’s Mom.

“Will be perfectly fine – Melissa’s a nurse, remember. I’ll see you tomorrow, son.”

“But Peter and I haven’t even been on a date yet” Stiles protests.

Noah sighs and asks “So, what do you call spending all day every day with Peter  for the last month then, kiddo?”

“Not dating?” Stiles answers weakly.

“Stiles, it’s Christmas. Make merry with Peter, OK? You know you want to.”

And with that he hangs up, leaving Stiles staring at his phone and Peter laughing loudly.

“I think my dad just kicked me out so he can have a booty call with Melissa McCall” Stiles tells him, slightly scandalized.

‘Well, it is Christmas after all” Peter replies, as he gently removes the phone from Stiles’ hand and places it on the bar.

“Come home with me, Stiles, and we can continue this….discussion” Peter suggests, licking delicately at the shell of Stiles’ ear.

Stiles shivers at the touch of Peter’s tongue, and turns his head to seek out his mouth again, greedy for more kisses. Peter chuckles softly as he obliges.

By the time they part this time, Stiles’ lips are swollen and his expression is glazed – peter’s literally kissed him senseless.

Peter places one last delicate peck on his cheek, before asking “So, my place? “

Stiles nods eagerly.

 

* * *

 

It’s not far to Peter’s place, but to Stiles it feels like he drives for hours.

He’s not sure exactly what he wants, but he’s fairly sure it involves extended amounts of making out. He thinks about werewolf strength, and wonders exactly how that will translate in the bedroom.

He hopes they’re going to end up in the bedroom.

When he pulls up and climbs out of the car, Peter’s waiting by the front door.

Once they’re inside, Peter takes off his jacket and hangs it up, and then does the same with Stiles’.

Then he turns to Stiles and moving forwards slowly, deliberately, he crowds him up against the nearest wall. 

Stiles looks into Peter’s deep blue eyes, and part of him wants to suggest they take it slow, have a drink first, and see where things progress, but another part of him is envisioning all his fantasies about Peter coming true, and that part seems to have the upper hand, because he says “You said if I guessed right, you’d make it worth my while.”

“I did, and I’m a man of my word” Peter purrs against his ear. He asks quietly “What do you want to happen now, Stiles? Should we kiss? Should I blow you? Fuck you?  Just let me know.”

“Yes, to everything” Stiles breathes, and suddenly Peter’s on him, pinning him against the wall with his body and ravaging his mouth. Stiles tangles his hands in Peter’s hair and encourages him, kissing back hungrily.

With their bodies pressed together, he can feel where Peter’s hardening against him and his hips twitch forwards in response.

Stiles holds up a hand and presses it against Peter’s chest, stilling him and saying “First things first.”

Peter pulls back immediately, and waits for Stiles to continue.

Stiles takes a moment to get his thoughts in order.

“This thing” he indicates between himself and Peter.

Peter nods, waiting.

“It’s not just a one night thing, is it? Because as much as I want this, if it is….” he trails off, not sure if he’s expressed himself adequately. It’s hard to think when Peter’s right there in front of him, tempting him.

Peter understands, though, and reassures him, saying “Not just one night, no. I’ve been falling for you since you were a skinny seventeen year old in a terrible shirt and tie. You don’t court one night stands, Stiles.”

Stiles looks into Peter’s eyes are sees nothing but sincerity and concern there.

It’s a little overwhelming, the thought that the man he’s been pining over was pining over him.

Stiles still can’t quite believe it.

He takes a deep breath.

“OK, so not one night. In that case, I’d like to make out a little more, and then I want to see you naked, and after that, I want to touch you all over, and after _that,_ I want you to take me to bed, and show me exactly what you can do with your werewolf strength.”

Peter presses him back against the wall and kisses him lazily, before telling him “That sounds like a perfect plan, sweetheart, and it would be my pleasure.”

He starts to kiss down the column of Stiles’ neck, soft little things, the barest whisper of lips against skin, and Stiles leans his head back further to allow better access, and just enjoys the sensation of Peter’s goatee brushing on his sensitive flesh. He moans softly, and Peter lifts his head long enough to say “You like that?” with a smirk, before continuing to kiss down and down and down, until he hits the neck of Stiles’ sweater.

He pulls away just a little so he can slide his hands up under the hem of the offending garment, broad palms warm against Stiles’ skin, and asks “OK?”

Stiles nods, raising his arms above his head so that Peter can slide the sweater up and over his head. His t shirt goes as well, leaving him standing bare chested.

Peter runs his palms firmly up Stiles’ sides, and goes back to kissing him as his hands roam over his back and torso.

Stiles sneaks his hands underneath Peter’s sweater, and nudges it upwards. “Fair’s fair” he teases as he slips his hands further up, exposing Peter’s abs.

Peter grabs the hem of his clothing and strips it off in one smooth move, leaving his naked torso on display, and Stiles licks his lips as he says “Oh my god, Peter. You have a six pack.”

He runs his fingers lightly over the ridges of muscles, and Peter smiles, amused.

“I’m glad you like it, Stiles” he says, and Stiles just wants to kiss the smug expression off his face, so he sets about doing just that.

When they finally draw apart, Peter asks him “Tell me Stiles, would you like to top or bottom?” and Stiles looks at him, surprised.

Peter looks positively devilish as he says “The choice is yours, sweetheart. I’m happy with either, and excellent at both.”

Stiles closes his eyes, and there’s a loud thunk as he throws his head back against the wall, imagining Peter naked and panting beneath him, and then Peter on top of him, pinning him down, holding his legs apart and driving into him, the stretch and the pull, the feeling of being filled….

“Bottom. Definitely bottom” he says, grinning cheekily.

Peter’s grin matches his own as he says “Oh, I was hoping you’d say that.”

 

* * *

 

 

When he sees it, Stiles thinks Peter’s bed looks like it should be in a bordello somewhere.

It’s much bigger than normal, the sheets are a deep royal blue, and the bedding is matching blue with a pattern of fine gold thread running through it. The comforter is thick and luxurious, and Stiles sinks down into it as Peter lays him back across the bed.

They’re still half clothed, but neither of them is in any hurry, happy to keep kissing and touching, drawing out little moans and gasps as they both find what the other likes.

Stiles loves having attention paid to his throat.

Peter growls in pleasure when Stiles pulls his hair a little.

A thumb brushed across his nipples makes Stiles gasp.

A thumb brushed across Peter’s nipple has no effect at all, but if Stiles runs his fingers down the back of his neck, Peter absolutely melts.

Stiles could keep doing this all night, except that the way Peter’s touching him is making his jeans uncomfortably tight, and he squirms  for a few minutes before reaching down and undoing his zipper, sighing in relief.

Peter pulls back and looks down, and then he grabs Stiles’ jeans and slides them all the way off, taking his boxers as well and leaving him naked.

“Oh, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous” Peter breathes out, as he shamelessly looks Stiles up and down.

He’s not the skinny boy he was at seventeen. He’s still fairly lean, but there’s hair on his chest now, and a dark trail on his stomach, pointing south. His chest is lightly muscled, leading down to a narrow waist, and a little lower, a very pretty, very hard cock, thick and uncut.

Stiles preens under the praise, thrusting his hips up a little and saying “You like it? I grew it myself.”

Peter snorts at that, even as he traces a finger up and down Stiles’ length.

“I do like it. In fact, I’d rather like to taste it” he says, as he licks his lips.

Stiles props himself up on his elbows, and looks down at where Peter’s started stroking him with a little more purpose.

As he hardens further under the touch, he can see the naked hunger written across Peter’s features, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to feel that mouth around him, and that beard rubbing on his tender skin.

“Oh god, yes” he replies, and Peter lowers his mouth, then takes just the tip of Stiles’ cock in his mouth and starts to suck gently.

Stiles lets out a low moan at the feeling of that warm, wet, talented mouth, and his hips rock up into it.

Peter raises his head, and with an absolutely filthy grin, says “Patience, Stiles. I’ve waited a long time for this, and I plan for us both to enjoy it.”

And he drops his head again, and takes in a little more, pulls off, then takes in a little more, slowly, slowly, until he’s engulfed Stiles in his mouth completely.

And then, once he’s swallowed him all down, he begins to suck, hollowing out his cheeks, steadily bobbing up and down, doing things with his tongue that are definitely indecent and possibly illegal.

The sight of Peter between his legs is too much for him to bear, so Stiles closes his eyes and concentrates on what he’s feeling, focusing on the warmth and pressure and suction, on the occasional scrape of beard against his thigh, and on the obscene slurping sounds that Peter makes.

His hips are rolling steadily now, but Peter has a hand on his left hipbone, keeping him in place as he works him over mercilessly with his mouth.

Stiles is making small gasps of pleasure, and Peter can tell he’s close, so he pulls off to ask “Do you want to come like this?”

Stiles nods vigorously, unable to speak.

Peter wastes no time in going back to what he was doing, but this time he brings his hand onto play, rolling his balls in his hands gently, teasing, adding a little pressure as he carries on giving Stiles the best blow job of his life.

It’s too much, and Stiles feels himself getting close. He stutters out a warning that’s not really words, but Peter seems to understand anyway. He responds by  sucking little more firmly, and Stiles bucks up hard, and comes with a loud shout.

Peter swallows his release,  gently suckling at his cock and only pulling off once Stiles has stopped coming.

Stiles looks down and sees Peter kneeling up between his legs, and he looks extremely pleased with himself.

He crawls up the bed until he’s face to face with Stiles, and then leans in and kisses him. Stiles can taste himself on Peter’s tongue, and he pulls a face.

Peter smirks, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

Stiles thinks that it should look obscene, but when it’s Peter, somehow it’s as hot as hell.

“You don’t swallow?” Peter asks Stiles.

Stiles shakes his head. “Not my thing, dude. As a rule, if it comes out of my body, I don’t want it going back in.”

Peter laughs loudly at that.

 “Fuck, Peter” Stiles sighs, still riding the post orgasmic high.

“Oh, definitely, once you catch your breath” Peter replies with a smirk.

Stiles pulls Peter closer so he can curl up next to him, and rests his head on the expanse of Peter’s chest. He can hear Peter’s heart beating, steady and reassuring, and the sound would almost lull him to sleep, if it wasn’t for the feeling of Peter’s erection nudging insistently at his thigh.

He looks down and asks “Want me to take care of that?” as he extends a hand.

Peter shakes his head, saying “Don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere.  I told you, I’ve waited a long time, and I'm happy to wait a little longer. For now, I’m happy like this.”

He wraps an arm around Stiles, holding him close and nuzzling into the top of his head.

“My wolf side wants to scent you, and touch you all over, and make you smell like mine. Would that be agreeable?” Peter asks, even as his hands roam over Stiles’ body.

Stiles snuggles into Peter as close as he can, and saying “Definitely agreeable. Touch me and scent me all you want.”

He tilts his head back so Peter can see the hopeful expression on his face, and adds “But you’ll still fuck me?”

“Oh, I will. But there’s no rush. We have all night, remember.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles closes his eyes and drifts, and Peter lets him. He spends the time holding Stiles close, happily mixing their scents, making Stiles smell like _them._

It’s probably only ten minutes before Stiles comes back to himself, startling when Peter runs a finger down his jawline and kisses him.

He kisses back eagerly, and rolls Peter over so he’s on his back. His hands move to Peter’s jeans, and he makes short work of the zipper and slips a hand inside.

“Of course you go commando” he mutters, as he works Peter’s jeans off him and surveys his naked body.

And oh, it’s everything he imagined it would be. Peter’s whole body is taut and muscled, and Stiles has a thing for dark hair and thick thighs.

“Pleased, sweetheart?”

Stiles nods, swallowing as he takes in the size of Peter’s erect cock. He can only imagine what it will feel like sliding into him.

He wraps a hand around it and starts to stroke it slowly, drawing a low moan from Peter. He grins, and does it again.

Suddenly, Peter flips them so he’s on top, pinning Stiles against the mattress as he grinds their bodies together. He’s kissing and nipping his way down Stiles’ throat at the same time, and Stiles can feel himself getting hard again.

Peter feels it too, raising an eyebrow as he says “Someone’s keen.”

Stiles grinds back against him shamelessly, and tells him “Peter, I’ve been thinking about you for months, and I’m twenty one. Of course I’m keen.”

He wraps his arms around Peter’s waist, holding him in place as his hips thrust upwards instinctively. Peter picks up the rhythm, pressing back down as he says “You’ve been thinking of me? Tell me more” with a pleased expression on his face.

“Uh huh” Stiles confirms.

“Been thinking about your neck. And your ass. You’ve got a great ass.” He reaches down and squeezes said ass firmly, as if to prove his point.

“Nearly drove me out of my mind that time you grabbed the tequila and pressed against me” he continues, slightly breathless as he continues to grind firmly against Peter.

Peter chuckles against his neck, where he’s licking and biting softly. “Oh, you liked that? I could do it again” he suggests, before pulling out of Stiles’ grip just long enough to flip him over so he’s face down.

Stiles’ breath hitches when Peter expertly manhandles him onto his front, and he says “Fuck, that’s hot” as his body bounces slightly against the mattress.

Peter starts to grind up against his ass, and Stiles presses back into the touch greedily.

“Oh yeah, so good” Stiles gasps out as he feels Peter’s cock sliding up and down the crack of his ass, wet with precome. “Fuck me, Peter.”

Peter growls low against his ear, before saying “If I fuck you now, I’ll split you open.”

Stiles whines, because part of him really, really likes that idea.

Maybe next time.

For now though, he reaches back and holds his cheeks apart in invitation, so Peter can slide deeper between them.

The next time Peter’s cock slides into his cleft, the tip swipes over Stiles’ hole, making them both gasp.

Stiles feels Peter’s hands on his hips, moving him so he’s up on his knees, and he parts his legs as wide as he can to give him better access.

He’s expecting fingers, not a tongue.

He yelps, but Peter has a hand on his hips holding him in place, and he licks across his hole with broad swipes of his tongue a few more times before stopping.

Stiles squirms out of his grip, and Peter chuckles, dark and filthy.

“Let me guess. Nobody’s done that before?”

Stiles shakes his head.

“Shall I carry on?” Peter asks, amusement evident in his tone.

Stiles manages a breathy “Yeah.”

Peter goes back to what he was doing, but he’s gentle, and he doesn’t rush, and he licks and teases for long minutes, drawing out happy sounds from Stiles, and by the time he finally slides the tip of his tongue inside him, he’s soft and stretched and wet, and Stiles thinks it’s possibly the most amazing thing he’s ever felt.

He rocks his ass back in an effort to chase the sensation, and Peter presses his tongue in a little further.

Stiles moans, and Peter’s breath is hot against him as he licks in one final time.

“Fuck, Peter” he gasps out.

Peter’s tongue is suddenly gone, but it’s replaced by a finger, sliding in more smoothly than it has any right to.

“Ready for more?” Peter asks.

“Uh huh. Whatever you want” Stiles tells him, moaning in pleasure at the stretch.

“What I want” Peter tells him as he adds a second slicked up finger “Is to wreck you in all the best ways.”

And then he twists his hand so his fingertips graze Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles bucks and whines as pleasure jolts through his body.

Peter does it again, before settling into a steady rhythm of sliding his fingers in and out, stretching Stiles, loosening him up ready for his cock.

Stiles is rocking back against his hand, making a tiny groaning noise every time Peter presses in with his fingers.  Peter judges him ready, and adds a third.

Stiles pants out “More, Peter. Want another one”

Peter obeys, slipping in his pinky.

Stiles rocks back, taking his fingers as far as he can, and Peter presses steadily deeper. It doesn’t take long until Stiles is stretched and ready, and Peter slowly withdraws his hand.

When he does, Stiles turns to look at him and asks “Exactly how strong are you, Peter?”

“Why do you ask, sweet boy?”

Stiles aims for nonchalant as he says “I was just wondering if you were strong enough to hold me.”

‘Easily Stiles, why?” Peter asks him.

“So, could you hold me against a wall?”

Ah.

Peter scoops Stiles up off the bed and slings him easily over his shoulder, carrying him over to the wall.

He set Stiles down on the ground, before saying “Stiles, would you like me to hold you up and fuck you against this wall? Is that what you’re asking for?” with a gleeful expression.

Stiles blushes a little as he replies “I always wanted to try it, that’s all. We don’t have to.”

Peter’s smile widens as he whispers into Stiles ear “What if I want to? What if I told you that I’ve had fantasies about holding you up against this very wall?”

“I’d say let’s visit those fantasies” Stiles says, looking delighted.

Peter takes a moment to retrieve a condom and add extra lube to his cock, and then he positively stalks over to where Stiles is waiting, a predatory expression on his face.

He places his hands under Stiles’ thighs and hoists him up effortlessly. Stiles throws his arms around Peter’s neck, and braces his back against the wall, ready.

Peter carefully lifts him and lines himself up, and slowly, slowly, he lets gravity do the work as Stiles slides down onto his cock.

Stiles lets out a loud groan at the stretch, and once he’s taken Peter in as far as he can, they take a moment for both of them to catch their breath.

Stiles has his head thrown back, a blissful expression on his face. Peter can’t resist leaning in to suck a lovebite into the pale flesh of his throat, and Stiles whines in response.

When he’s done, and a dark purple bruise blooms on Stiles’ neck, Peter pulls back and says “Ready?”

“So ready” Stiles tells him, his voice breathy with anticipation.

Peter adjusts his stance, bracing his thighs slightly, lifts Stiles halfway off his cock before telling him “Hold on tight”, and begins to thrust up into him.

Peter’s opened Stiles up so much that his cock slides in and out easily, but that doesn’t mean Stiles doesn’t feel every inch of it as it hammers into him, hitting his prostate every time Peter drives home.

Peter lifts him like he’s a rag doll, and he’s glassy eyed and gasping within minutes of starting. His erection is rubbing up and down against Peter’s abs, getting harder and harder and as he’s lifted and jostled and thrust into, and Stiles loves every second of it.

“Fuck, Peter” he grits out, as Peter slams him against the wall.

Peter’s eyes are glowing, and he’s setting a punishing pace. Stile wraps his legs around him and encourages him, clenching his ass around Peter’s length and rocking as much as he’s able.

Peter speeds up when Stiles starts clenching, so he does it some more. Between the feeling of Peter’s cock in his ass, and the way his dick’s rubbing on Peter’s rippling abs, Stiles can feel that he’s about to come.

“Peter, close” is all he can manage before his climax overtakes him and he spurts between their bodies with a choked cry.

His ass tightens suddenly, and it causes Peter to drive in one last time with a loud grunt, stilling as he comes.

Stiles leans his head forwards and rests it on Peter’s shoulder, breathing heavily as he recovers, and they stay that way, both spent.

“Holy shit”  Stiles finally manages.

Peter’s still holding him in place, and he’s not even out of breath, but he does look wrecked.

Stiles lifts his head long enough to kiss Peter softly, and Peter walks them carefully over to the bed, Stiles clinging to him happily.

Peter eases his cock out and lays Stiles down, and then joins him.

“Was that everything you thought it would be?” he asks.

Stiles sighs out “Fuck, yes. We’re going to be doing that _a lot_.”

Peter quickly disposes of the condom, and then drags Stiles so he’s laying across his chest and he has him held firmly in his arms.

Stiles half turns towards him, and asks “Peter Hale, are you a _snuggler?”_

Peter shrugs.

“All wolves are, Stiles. We’re tactile by nature, and it’s how we reinforce our relationships.”

Stiles smiles broadly at the news, saying “So, you're going to cuddle me every chance you get?”

“Every chance I get” Peter confirms.

“Oh dude, that’s amazing” Stiles says happily.

“Mmmmm” Peter replies, distracted by the way Stiles’ hair feels as he runs his fingers through it.

He places a kiss softly on the crown of Stiles’ head, and comments “You smell very content right now, Stiles.”

Stiles nods against his chest.

“I am. First I found out that the hot guy I’ve been pining after likes me back, and now I’ve had amazing wall sex and come twice, and to top it all off, you’re a cuddler. It’s been a good night.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart” Peter tells him with a grin.

“But Stiles?”

Stiles lifts his head when Peter speaks, to see the man looking at him with a hungry expression.

“The night’s not over yet.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles was never quite sure where the expression “Hungry like the wolf” came from -  he just thought it was a cheesy song lyric.

Peter spends the rest of the night showing him _exactly_ what it means.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, come talk to me on Tumblr!  
> https://bunnywest.tumblr.com/


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